


He's Everything That's Beautiful About The World

by yokomya



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, Jealousy, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-25
Updated: 2016-02-25
Packaged: 2018-05-23 02:47:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6102271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yokomya/pseuds/yokomya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Some things are too good to believe in,” Stiles told him, turning his head.</p><p>When their eyes locked, Scott inhaled enough to draw Stiles’ attention and he lowered his gaze, losing the will to respond. Maybe he wanted to prove him wrong, wanted to say believe in this, Stiles - or something ridiculously sentimental at the time which wouldn’t make sense later - but Scott kissed Stiles anyways.</p>
            </blockquote>





	He's Everything That's Beautiful About The World

Neither of them expected to keep doing this all the way up to college.

Sure, kissing in middle school was kinda cute, just something Scott and Stiles did for _practice_.

 

_We should prepare ourselves for high school girls. It’s fine. We’re still bros._

 

But keeping it up after that was more - _complicated_.

A small gesture of affection. Nothing big. Nothing they needed to think too much into.

They just pecked sometimes, not so different from kissing a family member. The two were kinda brothers after all, right? Right. Brothers.

One time, Scott fell off his bike and to somehow make it better Stiles kissed him and then he raced inside to get a bandaid. And on the same weekend, in the middle of playing operation - the game buzzed and Stiles jumped. Scott thought it was cute. A kiss made sense then too.

Since it felt like a secret, they made sure not to do it in public. Not because anyone would care - honestly, nobody at school gave them a second glance - but because it felt like something they shared. Something nobody else was in on. Like so many other things.

Then high school happened and hormones and puberty and all that crap and it should have ended there. They should have stopped kissing. Girls were part of the picture now, it was ridiculous to keep it up. And unnecessary.

First day of high school and it was unspoken - _it’s time we stopped doing this, we’re not dating, it’s weird -_ yet the day dragged out and ended with Scott sleeping over at Stiles’ house. The two stayed up until three in the morning playing video games and before they went to bed, Stiles stared at Scott and Scott stared back.

 

_Night, Stiles._

_Night, Scotty._

 

And they kissed.

 

The unspoken thoughts vanished.

It was something they didn’t talk about.

 

_Have we practiced enough? Does it feel weird? Is this still okay? Should we stop?_

 

They just didn’t.

At a Christmas party during freshman year, a drunk senior girl trailed Scott all night - flirted with him, practically threw herself at him. Scott didn’t notice. Stiles _couldn’t stop_ noticing. A hundred times, Stiles burned awful threats into her from across the room until Scott finally gave her the slip and returned to Stiles’ side. Right where he belonged.

At least Stiles thought so.

The first thing Stiles did - because alcohol and stupid jealousy and he has no impulse control - was pull Scott to the door, under a bright, dangling mistletoe.

So he could crash their lips together.

With an excuse.

There was more fire to the kiss than Stiles anticipated, far more than any other kiss they’ve ever dared. More of a feeling this time than an action. The two pulled apart after about fifteen seconds.

They didn’t talk about it.

So, that’s how life went for them. They didn’t address these little exchanges with actual words. Almost as if they silently decided it would shatter if ever mentioned in conversation.

Sophomore year, Scott got his first girlfriend.

Always Scott for some reason. Loving, gentle, caring, amazing, wonderful Scott -

Stiles didn’t care.

He ignored it at first. The fact they didn’t have a moment alone at school without this girl wedged right between them. The fact he couldn’t talk about Lacrosse or a movie or _anything_ without her name coming up. It wasn’t easy. And it didn’t last very long.

Stiles lost it.

Because Scott had kissed the girl - _in front of him_.

It was quick, a _see you later_ kind of kiss, but it had rattled every fiber in Stiles’ organic makeup to watch. Scott turned around, smiled at Stiles like always, completely oblivious. They should have seen it coming. Should have prepared for this day.

They didn’t.

Stiles avoided Scott for days after that. The longest he’s ever gone without seeing his dazzling brown eyes and listening to his sweet laughter. It was agony. When they had class together, Stiles made excuses to go to the bathroom or complained about stomach problems to avoid talking. It was immature.

He couldn’t face Scott though. His chest panged with overwhelming guilt.

Then the awkward moment came. He had to face Scott at the Lacrosse game.

Stilse considered skipping out on this one but his dad practically cuffed him and drove him there - alright that’s a _slight_ exaggeration. Honestly, he expected Scott to yell at him when they saw each other in the locker room but that never happened.

Scott met his eyes and said nothing. The two got into uniform, grabbed their gear, and went to the field. They played the game and Stiles never felt so bad in his life.

When it was over - they lost the match, surprise surprise - he found Scott in the locker room, dressed out of uniform and back into regular clothes, just sitting there. Stiles dressed cautiously, his locker was next to Scott so that was even more awkward, and one by one the team left until they were alone.

Stiles sat there, next to Scott, wishing he had a good explanation but about a million options of _zilch_ came to mind instead. Never had they gone this long without speaking. Stiles hated it and even worse, it was his fault.

“I broke up with her.”

Scott said that outloud and looked straight at Stiles. Stiles looked back.

“Why?”

“I don’t know.”

Whether he was telling the truth or not, Stiles would never know. Because Scott leaned forward and kissed him, erasing any curiosity or doubts from his mind.

Afterwards, they went home and watched tv until they fell asleep. Neither mentioned any of it again.

 

In senior year, things got trickier.

They had to talk about college and the future. What Scott wanted. What Stiles wanted. How they fit into each other’s lives after this.

Scott avoided it like the plague, pretended a magical guiding light would appear in front of his eyes and he wouldn’t have to think too hard on it. Some really nice future would lay itself out for him. Hopefully. That way he didn’t have to face the reality of _maybe_.

Maybe there’s no amazing future for him.

Maybe he won’t get accepted into a good college.

Maybe Stiles would be miles away.

Maybe Stiles wouldn’t be around anymore.

On a Saturday night, they huddled up in Scott’s backyard, enjoying the spring air and the night sky. They laughed a lot about nothing really, simply enjoyed each other’s presence for hours and hours.

Scott gazed up at it all, astounded by how beautiful the stars were - tracing each other, etching into the black of the sky, blinking glittery specks of light from far, far away.

“I can’t believe we can still see stars after they’ve died,” Scott murmured, nestling his arms behind his head. “Some of these little guys exploded lifetimes ago. It’s pretty amazing.”

Stiles was quiet so both stayed silent, lying there, listening to the wind on the trees.

“Some things are too good to believe in,” Stiles told him, turning his head.

When their eyes locked, Scott inhaled enough to draw Stiles’ attention and he lowered his gaze, losing the will to respond. Maybe he wanted to prove him wrong, wanted to say _believe in this, Stiles_ \- or something ridiculously sentimental at the time which wouldn’t make sense later - but Scott kissed Stiles anyways.

Delicate and slow and with so much feeling it scared them both.

 

_Believe in us, Stiles._

 

In the morning, they decided on the first college they were going to apply to. And a backup plan. And another one. Because they weren’t going anywhere without the other anytime soon.

Or ever.

As soon as they got their letters, they ripped them open anxiously.

_You have been accepted -_

They never finished reading because at the same time, they grabbed each other into a tight hug that lasted too long to remember.

Now they’re in college - _roomates_ in college. They’re living together. Not like it’s much different from sleeping in each other’s beds since they were in diapers. The only difference between having their own rooms and sharing this one is that they don’t have to share a bed. College is great.

At their first party, they get incredibly drunk and have a blast. It’s awesome.

When they get back to the dorm, they lay down on Scott’s bed - it’s closer to the door - and reminisce about high school. About the friends they had, the friends they’re making, classes, their parents, silly stuff. The more they speak the more their voices blur into meaningless sentence until it becomes nothing.

They fall asleep like that.

Weeks fly by and it doesn’t take long for Stiles to realize something. They haven’t kissed.

Not once.

It shouldn’t be invading his thoughts so much - it really isn’t _important_ \- but constantly, every second he spends in the room with Scott or at lunch with Scott or God forbid he be at a party with Scott, he’s reminded. More days and nights pass. No kiss.

Shockingly, more girls have come onto Stiles in the last month than any have his entire life. Almost every party, a girl wants to get to know him or have a drink with him or dance with him. It isn’t much different with Scott. This is it. They _practiced_ years for this.

Stiles likes the girls. He thinks.

Until one lovely blonde presses her lips sloppily to his and he realizes he’s wrong. This is a mistake. He jerks away, stomach flopping around like a fish out of water, mouth open dumbly. The girl doesn’t know what to say and neither does he.

Feeling pretty crappy, he leaves and finds Scott - who is doing an awkward shuffle dance in a group of frat boys Stiles has never seen - but as soon as he meets Stiles’ eyes, they go to a quieter area.

“A girl kissed me,” Stiles breaks out over the music. For some reason it was instinct to search for Scott and spill the beans. Like he was ratting himself out for doing something wrong. Something unforgivable.

“That’s great,” Scott replies, bobbing his head, clearly not distraught over it.

“No, it’s - “ Stiles stops and rubs his face. There’s a pause, a fleeting moment where he can say or do anything to justify why it’s not okay. But seriously, what about it isn’t okay?

Scott hovers his drink up to his mouth and sips, tilts his head a little in anticipation and Stiles loses all track of well - everything.

“Let’s go home, Scotty.”

“Why? You’re not having fun?”

“No, let’s get out of here.”

“What about the girl? You should go home with her instead,” Scott suggests, “You might get lucky.”

“What? Why would you say that, I don’t - “

“You can, I mean -  if you want,” Scott shrugs, taking a sip out of the red cup again, head bob slowing. His voice is apathetic, not the usual sweet, loving Scott.

It kind of hurts.

Stiles stares at Scott and then anywhere but Scott - yet ultimately ends up gazing at him in the end anyways.

“I’m heading to the dorm. See you whenever you’re done here.”

Stiles leaves and tries not to feel the sting of Scott not calling after him, of Scott not following him, not protesting - just letting him leave. It sucks.

The dorm room is empty and dull and cold and dark and everything that reminds Stiles why he needs Scott around. Why he needs Scott in his pathetic life. He lays on his bed for a while but can’t bring himself to sleep. Time ticks by and Stiles feels as if he’s underwater, like he’s trapped with no escape. In a flurry of emotion, Stiles sits up and wipes at his tearing eyes. He doesn’t even know what the problem is.

Just because Scott and Stiles have spent every waking moment together doesn’t mean it has to stay that way. Just because Scott is fine with Stiles kissing someone else doesn’t mean he should overanalyze it. Nothing is wrong.

He finds himself laying on Scott’s bed instead, clinging to Scott’s pillow as if that’s okay. As if it’s the same solace and comfort of what he truly needs.

It only takes a few minutes to drift off.

The sound of the door clicking shut wakes Stiles instantly. He cracks his eyes open and watches Scott’s shadowed figure. He’s peeling his jacket off, taking his keys out, dropping his wallet on the desk, doing pretty much anything he can think of to draw out time it seems like - eventually, he joins Stiles on the bed and doesn’t even complain that he’s already there. Doesn’t question it.

“Are you sobered up?” Stiles asks, curling his fingers into Scott’s pillow which he’s purposefully not letting go of. Scott blinks at him and there’s mist in his eyes but it has nothing to do with alcohol.

“What were you doing?” Stiles keeps going, despite being on the verge of passing out. Scott’s eyes are heavy but they don’t leave Stiles for a second.

“Thinking,” Scott answers quietly, “I sat alone for a bit, until I wasn’t drunk anymore.”

Not a trace of dishonesty clouds Scott’s vision. Stiles doesn’t hesitate to nod, knowing it isn’t his place to pry in the first place. He half expects Scott to ask if he’s okay - it’s his trademark - or maybe Scott will just go to sleep and they can forget about the weirdness of tonight. That would be fine. Scott flickers his eyes back and forth between Stiles’ own and breathes in, mumbling in a hushed voice.

“Don’t kiss anyone else, okay?”

Gently, he inches closer and lightly lays his fingers against’ Stiles’ face, smiles brokenly and then kisses Stiles’ skin - first on his neck and then cheek and he lingers -

“Okay, Stiles?”

The words spill out of Scott’s mouth desperately and pain erupts in Stiles’ body -

“Just me, okay?”

It’s whispered into the crook of Stiles’ neck, up to the soft space under his earlobe, across his jawline, to the corner of his mouth and Stiles is buzzing everywhere.

 

_Just me._

 

Stiles swallows the request, longing for the words as he drags Scott closer and lets their lips brush. He breathes wearily into Scott, kissing him over and over, as many times as it takes.

 

“ _Just you_ ,” he agrees heavily, pouring the undertones out.

 

Nothing changes after that.

 

They joke the same, undress around each other the same, spend time together the same - it’s natural. Sometimes Stiles wishes it weren’t. It’s unnerving that he _wants_ a change. A ripple in their relationship. Something noticeable.

It’s even more unnerving he doesn’t know why. Doesn’t exactly know what he wants.

Most mornings, when they’re getting ready for class, Stiles accidentally spaces out on Scott’s face. A lot.

It’s not really his fault though. It’s the sun - the way it shines in through the window glass and glows over Scott’s skin, highlighting every imperfection, fascinating Stiles to no end. And on afternoons, Scott’s barely audible humming while he listens to music and does homework practically lulls Stiles to sleep - it makes him very unproductive. Don’t get him started on nights.

Scott’s carefree laughter ringing out while they’re having fun together, whether it’s in the closure of the dorm or the freedom of outside - it’s euphoric.

But still, nothing has changed.

Stiles is sitting at his desk thinking a hell of a lot - his noon class got cancelled, leaving him to deal with this mess in his head - and even though there’s a pile of homework and papers that needs doing, he doesn’t touch it. He turns the chair in circles, contemplates a bunch of scenarios, closes his eyes, opens them, taps his foot, stands up just to sit back down -

The door opens and Scott comes in, dropping his backpack off with a yawn, shutting the door behind him.

“How was class?” Stiles asks, antsy.

“Good. Yours?” Scott answers, raising an eyebrow, picking up on the overflowing energy from Stiles’ side.

“Mine got cancelled.”

“Awesome. So, what have you been -”

He’s cut off by Stiles pushing him into the door and kissing him hard and fast, grabbing his jacket, frantically removing it -  no time for hesitation or rational judgement - and Scott complies, exhaling shortly, letting Stiles take the jacket to toss aside, along with whatever else he wants. They gravitate into each other, unable to keep their hands steady, eyes shut, pushing further and further.

The exposed areas of Scott’s neck where Stiles touches sear under the contact and Scott goes hazy for a second, tugs Stiles closer. Losing breath, he opens his mouth and tangles a hand into Stiles’ hair - it’s getting longer, softer - and shudders when Stiles moans quietly.

“Sorry,” Stiles tries to say but it’s lost in whatever they’re doing.

He’s caught off guard when Scott moves him backwards, smooth and easy - not breaking their kissing - until they fall clumsily onto Scott’s mattress.

And somehow that’s enough to register just how dangerous this is. How over the line this is.

 

_It’s fine. We’re still bros. It's fine._

 

Scott tries to come up with something coherent to confirm his doubt but he just can’t. Really.

He’s too engulfed in Stiles’ warmth and scent and the way he yanks Scott down ontop of him. Part of him wants Stiles to hold him forever and whisper sweet nothings and the other part wants Stiles to drown him in this thing they have, tear him apart, do whatever it takes. Whatever keeps it from ending.

Face heated, Scott presses down into Stiles, and shit, he’s aroused too - but Stiles must have figured it out first because he makes another faded sound, surfacing a buried eagerness in them both.

“We can stop,” Scott pants, actions opposing words as he slides a palm down Stiles’ chest until it hits his thigh - nails sort of digging into jean.

“Don’t you even - “ Stiles blurts, bumping his nose to Scott’s by mistake, “- dare, Scott.”

“Mmm,” Scott hums, lowering his head so he can graze lips to Stiles’ throat, taste the heartbeat there. All the nights he’s dreamt of this. All the willpower he’s used up. All the time he’s wasted not touching Stiles. Let that be over.

Maybe Stiles feels the same.

They’re both pretty rosy in the face by now and it only gets worse as the adrenaline spikes and Scott palms Stiles’ over his jeans, contented by the exasperation forming over the other’s lips.

“ _Scott_ \- “

 

Translation.

 

_Please._

 

So, Scott does. Whatever Stiles needs. Like always.

He unbuttons Stiles’ jeans and slips a hand inside, kisses Stiles again, strong, careful, promising - but as soon as he starts with the slow rhythm in his pants, Stiles gasps out of the kiss, head falling back and rolls his hips up into Scott’s hand, embarrassment erased by frustration.

“You too,” Stiles barely says, already undoing Scott’s jeans, eyelids falling, face flushed.

Scott doesn’t protest - why would he _want_ to - and is physically and mentally going crazy the instant Stiles touches him. Agitated, Scott goes delirious and focuses on the pretty moles that dot Stiles’ body just to keep himself grounded. They’re like constellations, stars on Stiles’ skin, and Scott wants to remember every single one.

He can’t keep his eyes open for very long though, especially when Stiles presses another kiss onto his lips, frenzied and rushed, _intense_ -

They stir against each other, within unfamiliar, uncharted territory and they don’t remember who floats first or last or how long they catch their breath after it’s over. The room distorts and then snaps back to normal and both of them inhale like it’s their first breath since the beginning of time.

Scott recovers a little quicker, enough for mind to connect back with body so he can roll completely off of Stiles and on his back. Stiles returns to Earth too and the first thing he does is swallow, stare at the ceiling, swallow again, and finally builds enough momentum to stand. Neither say anything as Stiles leaves for the bathroom.

 

Okay, _that_ was much harder to avoid mentioning.

 

Even if they didn’t explicitly talk about what happened, the tension whenever they were in visual range was unbearable. They spoke a little differently around each other, put crude humor aside just so that it didn’t bring any more awkwardness than was already instilled. They never talked about cute girls or sex or porn or anything remotely related.

Shit.

A few days pass with the air coated in wonder and fear. That maybe they screwed up. That they can’t go back to before. Maybe they’ve lost something precious.

Scott has a dream one night about swing sets and skateboards, about the noon sky and setting sun, about cedar trees and chalked cement and holding hands with Stiles through all of it. He wakes up with a stifled sob.

Classes go okay for the most part. Actually, spending time apart has gotten their grades up - less Scott and Stiles means more hitting the books. Even when they eat lunch together or hang out with mutual friends or chill in the lounge, watching a movie, whatever - they walk on eggshells.

It’s painful.

What's even more painful is watching that good looking guy from Scott's economics class hit on him. Stiles hates this part of himself. The jealous part. The angry part. The part that wants Scott,  _all_ of Scott. He puts up with it though, watches the two having a fantastic time doing work somehow -he endures. 

How many times is he going to jerk Scott away from a possible relationship? Away from something that might be healthy?

What they have _can't_ be called that. 

Stiles is alone, wishing for sleep that won't come - for an unrealistic peace of mind. Scott still hasn't returned since this morning and about a dozen ideas of where he could be rattle Stiles' brain. He contemplates calling or texting, doing anything to dull the ache, to know Scott is fine, but he fights the urge. Scott can be wherever he wants.

Regardless of that, Stiles sits up as soon as the door handle turns and swings open, revealing Scott. His eyes are tired as he sweeps them over the room and realizes Stiles is up.

"Hey," he says softly, "Sorry if you waited up. You didn't have to do that."

"I know," Stiles responds stiffly, unsure of his current emotional state. 

"I was at the library," Scott explains, leaving his stuff by the desk and crossing the room. He stops at the foot of his own bed and looks at it, doesn't sit down, and looks at Stiles.

"Were you studying with what's his face?" Stiles asks lowly, avoiding eye contact, the pettiness of what he said dawning on him. 

"Huh? Who?"

"That guy from your class, the guy that's crushing on you."

"Oh."

So, Scott knows the guy is crushing on him. Great. 

"Gotta sleep," Stiles shrugs, peeling the blankets of his bed back so he can just get in it already and stop moping, but Scott is faster. He climbs on the bed and pins Stiles on his back - gazes at him, eyes doting and worried. 

"You know I don't care right," Scott whispers, "Not about him."

 

_Not about him._

_I care about you._

 

Stiles' heart hammers straight to his airway, hindering him from response, and he blinks up long enough to catch the desire that paints Scott's expression. Then Scott caresses his' face faintly - as if he's afraid - but he doesn't have to fear for too long because Stiles pushes up off his elbow and kisses him. Sweetly, deeply, caring -

The urgency is gone this time but the need is bursting from the seems. 

Scott nuzzles into Stiles, fingers at the buttons of his shirt -  _"Is it okay?"_ \- Stiles nods against his lips, savoring the concern, granting permission by tugging off the shirt completely, helping Scott do the same. They touch softly for a while, just explore each other through butterfly kisses to shoulders, fingers dancing over rib cages, skin to skin contact that's electrifying and tender, safe and risky.

"I want - " Stiles exhales, shuddering as Scott sucks the sensitive area of his neck. 

 

_I want it. I want you._

Scott's reply is another kiss - confirmation, reflected thoughts and feelings and needs. 

They remove the rest of their clothes and gaze at each other, lose track of space and time, lace fingers together, intertwine their souls, heal any broken pieces one by one. 

Stiles is so afraid of waking up and this being a dream. It wouldn't be the first. 

He swears he hears Scott's hushed voice by his ear but it's drowned out by the bliss. Scott mingles his breath with Stiles', whispering once more, shivering into the other. For a moment, they forget their place in the world. 

When the high is over, when they've reached their limit, and they come back down, Scott says it again and drifts off under the covers with Stiles. Stiles won't remember until the morning.

 

 

_I love you._

 

 

 

Since Scott had to leave first for class, Stiles wakes up alone. He hates the feeling, that he missed Scott's sleepy eyes, that he didn't get to revel in the afterglow. The day is slower than ever - but that might also be because Stiles never misses a beat on the clock, can't pay attention to anything else. When he's done with classes, he texts Scott.

No reply. 

Scott always replies.

Hours pass and still nothing from Scott.

Stiles panics. 

Maybe Scott realized what they've known all along. If they ever crossed the line, they might not go back. They might not recover. He must have considered it and decided it was true. 

No.

_No._

Stiles searches for Scott around the campus, around the dorm, the dining hall, the library - he's nowhere. 

It isn't a miracle to find him at a party.

Anguish fills Stiles to the brim to see Scott mixed in with all these people they don't know, all these people that will never truly matter, but he still goes. He walks ahead, ready to take whatever speech or decision Scott has planned - God, it's going to _kill_ him. 

A tap on his shoulder distracts him.

“Hey," it's a girl he's seen before but he can't put a name to the face.

"Hey," Stiles retorts curtly, already back on destination. The girl blocks his path with a giggle and follows his gaze, approving look in her eyes. "Oh, right. I remember now. You're the guy that dipped when I kissed you. It was kinda cute actually."

"Uh-huh."

"I see," she says frankly, crossing her arms, smiling, "That's the guy you're always showing up with over there, isn't it?"

Stiles watches Scott from afar, watches how Scott isn’t all that comfortable with the people around him, how his steps falter as he sways - not really putting effort into dancing - how he’s not drinking either. Scott is dazed out, like he doesn’t even know where he is. Stiles hates it.

“You guys are close, right?” she pipes up from behind, “I'd like to get to know him. He's cute. Who is he?”

Stiles swallows and can’t tear his eyes away.

 

_Scott._

_Scotty._

_My roommate. My brother. My best friend._

_My soulmate._

_Everything I’m not._

_Everything that’s beautiful about the world._

 

Stiles doesn’t even say goodbye, he just walks forward, pushes through the dancing hoard of people, until he reaches Scott.

“Dance with me, Scott,” Stiles mutters, coming up to him, courage trumping anxiety. Scott stares back at Stiles, fog clearing in his eyes, and the bubble of weirdness between them bursts on the spot.

“Okay.”

They throw each other hesitant looks as they share the same space, dancing to the upbeat stereo, easing into it, inevitable smiles passing over them. The song doesn’t even finish before both of them internally decide it’s the best party of the year.

Endorphins ignite while they dance to the brink of exhaustion, until their lungs collapse and their skin steams. It’s in the middle of a slow song that the hesitation returns and the happiness crashes to ground zero, haywire emotions coming over them.

Stiles steps back but Scott chooses not to let him - he reaches out and holds his waist, tucks his face into his neck, sighs against it, _hopeful_. Not regretful. Hopeful.

Stiles numbs briefly before melting into Scott and hugging back, slow dancing with him - it doesn’t matter that they’re not very great at it. This is where they belong.

The music dies down and Scott peers at Stiles who peers back. He leads them away from the crowd, away from the party, away from the noise, so they’re alone by the trees.

“Stiles,” Scott starts, a little shaky, nervous, a lot of things. He kicks out at the grass and searches for the right words, having a hard time.

“Someone asked me who you were,” Stiles cuts in, put off by the confusion channeling over Scott’s face. He scrunches an eyebrow up and waits for this to go somewhere. Stiles bites his lip and glances up at the stars, then to Scott again.

“I didn’t know what to tell them.”

It’s such a strange thing to say. Stiles doesn’t even know what he’s trying to convey or what he feels or what it means or why he’s saying it. It’s insignificant, isn’t it?

Yet, it's so important. Like he needs a definition or an explanation. Like it needs to be out in the open, this thing they have. What they are. What it means.

Scott calms and leans off the tree so that he’s right in front of Stiles, as if he’s figured the secret of the universe out. Stiles watches his subtle movements and his heart pounds and he can't say it, even though he feels it in every bone and nerve of his being, in every ounce of his spirit. No amount of words can describe the actual feeling.

 

 

_I love you._

_I love you._

_I love you._

 

 

“That’s easy,” Scott states - invisible smiles and tears and longing and love lacing the syllables. Stiles waits with baited breath as Scott does that thing where he touches his face right before the other thing -

 

 

“I’m yours.”


End file.
